


One Fuzzy Christmas

by SandraSempra



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drunk Dancing, Drunkenness, First Christmas, Fluff, Holiday Sweaters, Holidays, Hungover, M/M, Sweater weather, Weasley Family, can't remember
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 00:51:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12947742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandraSempra/pseuds/SandraSempra
Summary: Draco was determined to impress his boyfriend's family during their first Christmas at the Burrow. Everything went alright, didn't it? If only Draco could remember





	One Fuzzy Christmas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FangQueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FangQueen/gifts).



> Written for We-Wish-You-A-Merry-Slashmas fest with Fairest of the Rare and The Slash Zone. 
> 
> As always, I own nothing. 
> 
> Huge beta love to my JEPierre I kind of love you.
> 
> I gifted this to the amazing FangQueen. (She doesn't know this yet) but she is who inspired me to fall in love with these boys and I only hope I do her justice with them ha - love you, woman!

* * *

 

 

Draco’s head was pounding. Any movement he made, no matter how slight, felt as though a hammer was smashing down on his temples in the worst way. He lay with his head buried face down into a pillow, sprawled out on his stomach. _How much did he drink last night?_ He squinted his eyes, the morning caused his vision to strain under its brightness in the room; his mind clogged and infuriatingly lost any and all thoughts to help him remember the events that occurred the night before. _Bollocks._ It had been years since Draco had been hung over like this, he’d rarely ever allowed himself to be publically vulnerable under the influence of... _What_ **_was_ ** _that concoction he consumed?_

“Morning sunshine,” his boyfriend’s voice was to his right and Draco groaned in response. The sound alone appeared as though he were screaming through a microphone.

“Stop shouting.” _Gods_ it hurt to talk.

“I’ve got a rejuvenating potion on the table for you there, Shake-o Draco.”

Draco willed his eyes to widen, but they failed him, only a flash of sunlight hitting his irises and causing more strain. He lifted his head to shift and face Ron, his fiery hair with the same intensity to rival the sun. He sighed at his smiling expression, not entirely sure he could face him for the remainder of the day. It felt as though his head were made of stone. _Heavy_ stone, and he strained, managing to pull a pillow over his head, moving only his pinky and thumb to pinch the corner of the fluffy object into place.

Ron was laughing, subtly, but laughing all the same, and it caused Draco to snarl. “What?” Draco winced as his head vibrated when he spoke.

“Oh tell me you don’t remember,” Ron perked up his head, propping his weight on his elbow as he peered down at his boyfriend entangled in the sheets. “You really made one hell of an impression.”

Draco groaned, vaguely remembering the early hours of his evening with difficulty. It was the first Christmas Draco had _experienced_ at the Burrow with his boyfriend of three years, and the remaining Weasley clan. It was to be a triumph, in his terms, to get them all on board with the fact he and Ron had been dating casually after the whole _Voldemort debacle,_ and he knew that was putting it lightly, recognizing there was much more to it than that. Draco understood why Ron’s family had kept their distance, but Ron never gave up on them, never stopped fighting for the man, his former rival, he grew to care for.

There was no question regarding the importance of family when it came to the Weasleys, it was something Draco longed to feel, and welcomed it wholeheartedly. When Ron approached him that day in the Ministry after Draco’s trial — the day Draco desperately wanted to forget, listening to the scolding and reprimands everyone in the room sneered his way — it was the day his entire life changed. No more fortune or manor, no more superiority or connections; his father was locked up in Azkaban already and his mother had lost much of her strength then, straining to give all she had left for Draco’s trial soon after. To both of their relief, the two were spared. _Barely_.

He wanted to forget it all and make that day disappear, but true to their past, Ron was there to muck it all up. Simply because he was, in fact, _there_. He never imagined sharing a drink with the ginger rival of his past, or laughing about instances both were too proud to let go as students would be the foundation to something so much more.

“Your parents love me then,” he said when his brain finally allowed him a break between throbs, “I mean, as if there would be _any_ doubts.”

He heard Ron laughing again beside him, then felt his weight as he reached across Draco’s back to grab something off the nightstand.

“Take this first. Then we can talk about your _wonderful_ new relationship with my parents.”

Without moving his head, he lifted his arm with a flexed palm, waiting impatiently for Ron to place whatever the rejuvenation potion was in into his hand.

“You are so spoiled, you know that? Just sit up will you?” Ron’s voice was that of teasing, and Draco smiled, unseen under the safety and darkness of the pillow. That was until Ron hexed him by lifting it off his head and exposing his unready eyes to the sun’s brightness once more.

“God you’re such a git,” he grumbled, pushing off his palms to lift himself into a sitting position on the bed. It proved to be a much harder task than he considered it to be, and his arms shook as they flexed to raise his torso from the mattress.

“Need help?”

“Don’t touch me.”

Ron’s arms were thrown back in faux indifference, a lopsided grin spread across his lips as he sat with his back propped against the headboard of his bed.  Eventually, he crossed his arms over his chest, watching in amusement, as Draco struggled to sit up. His platinum blond hair was standing up in all directions on his head, causing another snigger to emerge from Ron.

“How could anyone _truly_ ever hate you with all this charm?”

“I often ask myself that same question,” Draco’s voice was rougher than usual and he cleared his throat. His lips held a snarl as he placed a loosely balled fist to his mouth, a burning sensation erupting from his stomach and through his throat caused him to wince uncomfortably.

“As I said,” Ron laughed handing over the phial, “I must say, I kind of like this role reversal.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Draco downed the contents quickly, regretting the sudden incline of his head as his balance wobbled from his newly felt dizziness. “Gods what _was_ that drink last night?”

“Just a little thing George whipped up. He and Fred had been perfecting it for years,” Ron’s face faltered slightly, and Draco didn’t miss the saddened expression on his boyfriend’s face. Draco never had the pleasure of getting to know Fred before the war, but he knew even now, five years after the final battle, it was hard for Ron to talk about him. He reached over and entwined his fingers into Ron’s, giving him a light squeeze. Ron twitched the side of his mouth in response. “George finally was able to get it right.”

“Well, it’s bloody strong,” Draco tried to make light of the topic, to help deter his boyfriend’s mind from going back to the loss of his brother.

“Yeah, but bloody delicious going down.”

“I’m not so sure. It was peppery-like and a bit too sweet for my taste.”

For another time that morning, Ron was laughing in response to Draco. The sound was both infuriating and enchanting: infuriating because Ron _knew_ how much he hated to be laughed at, but enchanting because it was a genuinely happy sound. It was one of the things that drew Draco into Ron’s infuriatingly charming arms in the first place.

“Do you really remember nothing?”

“Of course I do,” he side-eyed Ron then, too hungover to give a convincing lie. “I don’t remember a thing, which I can’t help but think was all part of your scheme.”

“ _Scheme_? You’re paranoid,” Ron reached over and pulled Draco into him. “Although, I won’t be opposed to you drinking like that again. I surely enjoyed the entertainment.”

“I hate you.” Draco’s eyes thinned to slits, side-eying Ron in the worst way.

“That is no way to talk to your, what did you call me? Wittle Weasel?”

Draco visibly winced at the sound of the horrendous appellation.

“You’re making that up.” Snarling at the over eager expression on Ron’s face, Draco tilted his head against the headboard of the bed, straining to remember any details of the events after he and Ron had arrived to the Burrow. With no avail, his head only throbbed, even with the effects of the potion sinking in.

Draco drug his hands down his face, grunting at the still blurriness and weighted feel of his movements. When he dropped his hands back into his lap, he took in the details of his attire for the first time that morning. His bottom half was completely nude, but he was wearing an unfamiliar, yet _very_ familiar jumper.

“What… is this _monstrosity_?”

Ron threw his head back in a fit of laughter, resting his palm on Draco’s forearm. “Are you referring to your _‘most favouritest jumper_ **_ever_ **?”

He took in the knitted and stitched details of the thick fabrics, the rather large and saggy size of the green jumper he had on his person. But the thing that caught Draco the most was the rather large ‘ _D_ ’ on the front of it in silver with black.

“My… _what_?”

It was in that moment Draco remembered, _vaguely_ , a snippet into his evening. His eyes widened as Ron’s grin grew on his face. He could see the realization washing over his boyfriend’s eyes.  


_The Burrow was warm, too warm, as Draco sat on the floor at Ron’s feet, who was sitting in a large worn chair. Packaging and wrapping paper were sprawled out about the room, and Draco was wobbling where he sat, already feeling the strong contents of the ‘_ Weasley’s Amort Port _’ George had concocted. It was a curious thing, combining the effects of a good porter beer with the teasing flecked tastes of an amortentia potion. So it was only fitting Draco’s glass would have a hint of ginger._

 _Draco remembered laughing, sitting on the floor and observing_ — _to the best of his abilities while under the strong influence_ — _as his boyfriend’s family joyously unwrapped their presents. George was standing by the tree, or rather leant against the wall behind it, with his own glass of ‘_ Weasley Amort Port _’ as Angelina, his wife, playfully mocked his movements. Ginny and Potter were sat on the small sofa with arms entwined and gazing longingly as newly engaged couples often did, he supposed. Molly was standing by the frame to the kitchen, admiring her family in her flour doused Christmas apron while Arthur sat at the tree’s base passing presents under a rather large and long Santa hat atop his head. Everyone was dressed in the same style jumper, all but one, that is, naturally._

 _It was all new,_ all welcoming _, and Draco sighed through smiling lips as he propped his back against Ron’s legs, a freckled hand on his shoulder to help him stay steady._

_“This one’s for you, Draco,” Arthur was saying, waving the large square decorated box in the air to catch Draco’s attention. Ron’s hand gave his shoulder a squeeze and Draco perked up his head._

_“For...me?” It shouldn’t have been a total surprise, he and Ron had purchased everyone in the room gifts separately and the Weasleys’ were always thinking of others, but Draco didn’t expect a gift in return; being allowed to come and sit with them for their Christmas dinner and share in a merry time with the man he loved and his family was a gift enough in itself.  But he’d never turn down a gift, so he graciously took the present into his possession just the same._

_He shook the package in front of him, hovering his ear over it in attempt to guess what it could be. Draco didn’t realize the eyes in the room, watching in silence until he peered up through heavy hooded lids. Tossing a tight smile, he cleared his throat and began tearing slowly at the side._

_“Oh, come on mate! Rip into it!” George shouted above the sound of the crinkling paper in Draco’s hand. Angelina held him at the chest, balancing her very drunk husband at his middle._

_“I do hope it fits, dear,” came Molly from the doorframe, a look of anxiousness and uncertainty across her face._

_Draco removed the lid and sat, staring in awe at the jumper in the box. A sweater to match the rest of members in the room. He pushed out his lip, making a pouty expression as he held it up, hugging the clothing to his chest._

_“Do you like it?” Molly had taken two steps into the room, looking on with a dishrag in her hand, cupping her heart._

_“Mrs. Weasley. I don’t just like it,” Draco began, his eyes burning from his drunken racing mind of appreciation. “I, I love it! It’s my most_ favouritest _jumper_ **_ever_ ** _!”_

 _The room erupted into a mixture of sounds then_ — _laughter, cheers, and subtle gasps. More than likely from surprise at the sentiment and uncharacteristic verbiage from the blond’s mouth.  Draco stood up quickly, a nervous Ron at his side to hold him steady, and pulled the green jumper over his head. It was larger than he would have liked, but he didn’t care. For the first time in years, he didn’t feel alone, or scared.  He crossed his arms over his chest and hugged the fabric, squeezing himself with a shit-eating grin across his lips._

_“Draco, your gay is showing,” Ron teased as he joined in, wrapping his arms innocently around his boyfriend’s waist.  
_

Draco slapped Ron hard on his shoulder, his head slowly coming into some clarity.

“Ow,” Ron breathed through a gin. “What was that for?”

“My _gay_ is showing? Why the hell would you even say that in front of your parents?”

“Oh, Draco, always worried about your sweet little reputation.”

Draco frowned. He knew Ron was playing around, but that didn’t make the statement hurt any less. His reputation was nothing what it was in school, holding no value in terms of swaying others to his favor. At least not in the same way. Ron climbed over him, Draco eying him with his propped back on the headboard, staring at Ron who was straddled over his legs.

“You’re so sensitive when you’re hungover,” Ron swayed on his knees, causing the mattress to shift under his weight on either side of Draco.

“You wanted a role reversal,” he said dryly, staring up unamused at an overeager Ron.

Ron threw a hand over his chest, his expression morphing to a faux pained countenance. “So hurtful this morning.”

Draco rolled his eyes, turning his head in an attempt to ignore Ron’s playful gaze. He failed to hide his smile, however, and Ron lunged forward, burying his face into the curve of Draco’s neck. He was almost embarrassed of the sound that erupted from his throat at the contact of Ron’s mouth, but he relaxed into the feel of him.

“Tell your sweet _Wittle Weasel_ what you want,” Ron’s breath tickled the damp flesh where his kisses lingered and Draco laughed, pretending to be annoyed with his sprightly antics.

“Gods, please tell me I didn’t actually call you that.”

Pulling back, Ron caught Draco’s eyes, his mouth curved up in a full lengthed grin to rival any impish fool. It was infectious though, and Draco pulled the side of his lips in a tight half grin of his own.

“Oh, you said it,” Ron settled beside Draco again. “But not before you proclaimed your undying love for me to my mum.” Draco groaned, something that became a common occurrence that morning. Ron was side eyeing him, trying to play-it-cool, and failing horribly. “Do you want me to tell you?”

“If I say no, would that stop you?”

“No,” Ron was beaming.

“I didn’t think it would. Go on then. I can see the triumph in your face, you know.”

Ron clapped his hands together and cleared his throat. “ _NO_ interruptions! Promise me now.”

“Just tell me you git!”

“That’s not a-”

“Ron!”

_“Aside from the few snarky remarks between you and Harry, the night was going smoothly. You even helped with dessert. I’d be lying a bit if I said I wasn’t proud to see my mum’s face when you jumped up in your most favourist-”_

“Ron, just call it my new jumper.”

“I said no interruptions!”

_“George, Harry and I were sat in the living room listening to dad go on and on about the fascinating concepts of fidget spinners when I heard my mom snort. She actually snorted. It was the damnedest thing. Anyway, that’s when you came bursting into the living room, a sack of batter or something in your hand._

_Truthfully, I wasn’t entirely sure what was happening at first. I just sat and stared at you as you shook this sack of mix up and danced in a circle singing:_

_“Ma-ma Weas-ley_

_She’s got that bake-oh!_

_Mix-ing coo-kies_

_Cuz I’m Shake-o Dra-co!”  
_

Draco slapped his hands over his face, once again emitting a large grumble. There were a total of three people in his entire life who had witnessed Draco’s sad excuse for dancing, and he’d gone and more than doubled that in a single night.

“It wasn’t that bad, Draco,” Ron pulled him so Draco’s head was resting on his shoulder. “If it makes you feel any better, mum was dancing with you.”

Draco peered up at Ron with a snarl on his lips.

“No, Ronald, that _absolutely_ does _not_ make me feel better.”

“You know, after I put your drunk ass to bed, dad told me he was glad you came,” Ron paused and kissed Draco’s forehead. It was more than a single sentiment of affection - it was _comfort_ , which is how Draco felt whilst with Ron. “He said you are more than what he gave you credit for, despite being a right prick in your younger days.”  
  
“He called me a right prick?” Draco lifted his head up swiftly, forgetting momentarily his skull was still recovering from the amount of alcohol. Ron breathed a smile, reaching up and pulling Draco gently on the back of the head for a sweet kiss.

Against Draco’s lips, he said, “I might have exaggerated a little.”

“You’re such an arse, Weasel.”

“Happy Christmas you prat.”


End file.
